


the fire is burning down to embers

by paladin_piper



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Found Family Dynamic, Sibling Bonding, Two Hawke/Hawke Sister AU, Wintersend (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21852964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paladin_piper/pseuds/paladin_piper
Summary: the fire is burning but I can't remember.Maura Hawke reflects on what her life has become after seven years of living in Kirkwall, falling in love, losing family (and finding another), and becoming a mother.A Secret Santa fic for nuclearmuffins!
Relationships: Anders/Female Hawke, Fenris/Female Hawke
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	the fire is burning down to embers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nuclearmuffins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuclearmuffins/gifts).

> I wrote this fic as part of a Secret Santa Exchange in the Dragon Age OC Emporium Wiki Discord for my dear friend Muffins! It's Anders/Female Hawke (Maura Hawke) with a feature of Fenris/my Female Hawke (Marian Hawke) in our Hawke Sisters AU!

**9:37 Dragon**

**Kirkwall**

A gentle whimper woke her.

“Mama?”

The warm sunlight of the early morning was barely peeking through the thick red curtains of her bedroom; too early for most of Kirkwall to be awake, save for one familiar face.

“Mama?”

Her bare feet met the cold stone floor, and Maura stretched her arms over her head. There was a pull between her shoulder blades -- the creeping consequence of years of fighting and age catching up to her. “Mama’s coming. Don’t worry.”

Walking across her room, Maura scooped Mal up from his crib and pressed a noisy kiss to his cheek. Soon he’d be too big for the crib he was still sleeping in, but that was a thought for after the holidays. Mal was getting old; _Maker_, she was getting old. 

The toddler snuggled into her, his fists twisting her nightshirt into knots. “Dance, Mama!”

She wasn’t sure how the dancing started, but Maura learned it was the easiest way to calm Mal’s nighttime whimpers. Humming along to an imaginary song, her feet slid across the stone and onto the carpet jutting out beneath the bed frame. She thought back to her childhood: how her, Bethany, and Marian used to dance around the living room of wherever the family was hiding out. The familiar movements calmed Mal, and soon enough the toddler was fast asleep in her arms.

Maura went to the windows, peeking out the slit of the curtains onto the streets below. The calendar might have said it was Wintersend season, but it didn’t  _ feel  _ like it; it never had here in Kirkwall. The City of Chains didn’t get the snow that Ferelden winters did, and without everyone around, Wintersend hadn’t felt like it did when she was younger for years now. Maybe that was what Leandra meant when she said that one day Maura would “grow up”: Wintersend would lose its magic. With Bethany stuck in the Gallows; Carver unable to leave the Wardens for the holidays; and only the memories of Garrick and her parents to keep her company, this season was feeling less and less joyful.

A snore pulled her from her thoughts, and Maura’s laugh managed to hide the fact that she had nearly jumped out of her skin in surprise. Somehow, she had missed the fact that Anders actually made it to bed last night. Most mornings, she found him passed out at his desk or curled in front of the fire like the stray cats that always followed him home. Anders had rolled over, and Maura took the opportunity to slide next to him, a sleeping Mal nestled between them. Anders stirred as the bed sunk under their weight, and when he peeled the pillow off of his face, his body tensed for a brief moment. But once his big brown eyes met hers, his still cloudy with sleep, he relaxed.

“You were snoring,” she whispered with a teasing smile, pinching his nose. Anders’s nostrils flared, but his expression softened as her hand curved around his cheek.

“As if you don’t always.”

She rolled her eyes, warming her palm against his scruffy face. “Shut up.”

“Mm, I should sleep in our bed more often,” Anders kissed her palm, crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. Maura grimaced as he stretched his arms out, his back cracking loud enough that she expected Mal to wake up at the noise.

“And here I thought you  _ enjoyed _ sleeping like those cats that always follow you home from the Clinic.”

He snorted, then leaned over Mal to press a kiss to Maura’s cheek. “Must be a Wintersend miracle.”

“Speaking of miracles--” As soon as she said it, Anders’ face fell. Maura clicked her tongue at the sight of his lips pressing into a thin white line. “Oh, you promised!”

Ruffling his hair, Anders rolled out of bed and groaned. He plucked his house robe from the floor, slipping it over his shoulders after giving it a quick sniff. Facing away from her, his form was tight and stiff, and she swore she could hear his lips moving as he silently argued with himself. “You know  _ he  _ doesn’t like big groups like that. Or spirits.  _ He  _ fi--”

“Finds the name demeaning, I  _ know _ . But it’s almost Wintersend, and then Marian’s birthday is right around the corner.  _ He  _ can relax for one night. Plus Orana offered to watch Mal.” A pause. “Please, Anders. For me?”

Silence filled the space between them, but then his shoulders slumped forward and he turned to look back at her. “Fine, but if I hear  _ one  _ joke--”

Maura laughed, putting her hand on her chest. “I promise, I’ll make sure no one makes any spirit jokes. Cross my heart.”

A smirk crossed Anders’ face when he crawled back into bed, butting his forehead against hers. “I meant from  _ you. _ ”

“Maker, you  _ are  _ a cat.” She teased, curling two fingers under his chin and pulling him into a sweet kiss. “Would you like a warm glass of milk next?”

Anders practically purred in the kiss, nipping at her bottom lip. “Mmm, and a ball of twine to play with?”

“Play?”

Mal was awake now, pushing himself up on the bed. Of course that word would wake him. Small arms wrapped around Anders’ neck, and Anders chuckled. “Let’s let Mama sleep some, alright?”

Maura rested back against the pillows while Anders scooped up Mal, carrying him out of the room and closing the door behind them. Pulling the silky sheets up to her face, she took a deep breath and smiled at the smell of Anders still lingering on the fabric. Maybe her lover wasn’t slipping away; maybe everything would end up working out. The Mage and Templar issues might end quietly, and her and Anders and Mal would be able to live a completely normal (well, _ their  _ brand of normal), quiet life together. She sighed, letting sleep take her as the sound of Mal’s giggles floated down the halls of the Amell estate.

_ Everything will be okay. Everything is going to be alright. _

* * *

“Maura!”

Strong arms wrapped around Maura before the door to the Hanged Man could close. Marian lifted Maura off the ground with ease, giggling madly in a way that could only mean one thing with her younger sister. Once Maura could gather her bearings, she saw a ruddy flush on Marian’s cheeks, her freckles popping out like the constellations in the sky. 

“You’re already drunk? It’s barely past suppertime!” She playfully chided her sister, hugging her properly once she was on solid ground. The hug was warm and welcomed, a nice contrast from the snippy cold front that had rushed Kirkwall this evening.

“‘Bela said you only turn thirty  _ once _ !”

“Yes, and with all this drinking you may not make it these last two weeks!” She said, laughing and hooking her arm through Marian’s.  _ Little Marian’s about to turn thirty, where’s the time going? Why does it feel like it’s running out? _

“... Specifics…. Pfft.” Marian shook her head, smiling wide as she led Maura and Anders over to the group. Everyone was there, circled around a wide table covered in cards and drinks. The Hanged Man was sparsely decorated for the holiday season: little pieces of silver tinsel were pressed onto the walls in the shape of lopsided snowflakes, and large poinsettia were tucked into the corners of the bar to try and mask the mildew smell that frequented the Hanged Man alongside the more common patrons. 

Maura was dragged into a seat next to Marian, Merrill seated on her other side. Despite their arguments, the two women had slowly begun to mend their friendship. Merrill’s face was bright red, a cup of something foamy and beige clasped between her scarred fingers. 

“I was telling Merrill that you’re absolutely  _ not  _ bringing a baby to a bar. Right? You… you didn’t bring Mal, right?” Marian tilted her head, just now realizing to look for her nephew.

Anders’ hands came to rest on Maura’s shoulders, squeezing them gently. “Yes, Marian, we brought our _only_ _child _to the most dangerous bar in Kirkwall.”

“Hey, it’s not the most dangerous!” Varric said across the table, raising his hands and completely missing Isabela taking a peek at his cards.

“My mistake. The  _ second  _ most dangerous bar in Kirkwall.” Anders corrected himself with a smirk.

Varric stuck his chest out, lips curled into a showy smile. “Thank you.”

A glass dropped in front of Maura, filled with a crimson wine that was sloshing over the sides. The gloved hand gripping the stem led up to Fenris, smirking slightly with a pink tint to his cheeks. He and Maura shared a silent nod, a mirrored smirk appearing on her face. 

“You know I don’t drink anymore.”

Fenris shrugged, lifting the glass up to his lips. “That’s what they all say.” 

She saw how his eyes hardened and his ears pulled back when he and Anders made eye contact, and all Maura could do was sigh. At least words weren’t exchanged this time.

Once Fenris was thoroughly distracted by Marian, Anders’ thumbs rubbed small circles on her shoulders. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and she leaned back to catch his lips in a proper kiss. “Doin’ alright?” 

Anders nodded, a tired but tight smile appearing. Maura secretly hoped that that one little altercation wouldn’t cause Anders to want to leave as soon as they arrived: little offenses had set him off in the past. Thankfully, he looked somewhat subdued, his head snapping up as Varric called him by his epithet.

“Pull up a seat, Blondie. Maker knows there’s an abundance of them here. We’re about to start a new round.” Varric said. “Hopefully Rivani doesn’t cheat this time.”

Isabela laughed, shuffling the cards. “Choir-boy won the last three rounds. I think he’s the one counting cards, not me.”

Maura hadn’t even realized Sebastian was at the table until she heard him chuckle. Seeing him out of his armor was a rarity, but the dark-blue robes of the Chantry brothers disguised him well. “You forget that this is not my first game of Wicked Grace, Isabela.”

“You should see him during our games. He cleans Donnic out.” Fenris had found a seat squeezed between Marian and Varric. He picked up his cards as he spoke, grimacing when he saw his hand.

Sebastian chuckled. “All my winnings go to the local orphanages, I assure you.”

“Speaking of Donnic,” Maura picked up her cards ( _ three Serpents and two Songs, shit, that’s bad, right? _ ), “where’re he and Aveline? It’s not like the Guard Captain to miss a night of debauchery.”

“She was here earlier; a guard stuck his head in and grabbed her. Said there was some altercation in Lowtown.” Marian shrugged, tossing a few bits into the pile. 

Maura mirrored her sister’s movement. “How  _ dare  _ she do her job, during Wintersend no less! I  _ want  _ this city to fall into ruins during the holiday season just so I can see my dear Aveline.”

“That might actually improve it,” Isabela commented, drawing a card. 

“I like the city just fine how it is: batshit crazy, but surprisingly stable.” Varric rolled his eyes, tossing some bits into ever-growing pot. He drew a card then made a noise of disgust. “Shit.”

She felt Anders bristle beside her at Varric’s comment, and Maura ran her hand over his back. His ink-stained fingers flickered over his cards, rearranging them over and over.

The turns came and went, the conversation ebbing and flowing. Maura was a terrible bluff and stuck to playing straight over trying to cheat (no matter how much Varric and Isabela tried to tempt her to). 

Varric cleared his throat. “Blondie, your turn.”

Anders stiffened, then tossed out a card and drew another. “Oh, Angel of Death.” 

A grumble of “ _ shit _ ” came from the dwarf. Cards were shown, and Merrill hummed happily as she deposited the pile of bits and silver into her empty coin purse.

“I’ve never once seen you win a game Merrill,” Marian shook her head, gathering the cards to shuffle them.

“Oh, it must be what you say: a  _ Wintersend miracle! _ ” Merrill bubbled with her words, the alcohol making her squeal of excitement jump an octave.

Before the cards could be dealt for another game, the door to the Hanged Man swung open and Aveline stumbled in. Blood dripped from a gash on her cheekbone and Maura’s fingers twitched. The Guard Captain looked out of breath, the blade of the sword gripped in her shaky hand stained red.

“Can’t we enjoy one night without some madness?” Maura shook her head, standing up from the table alongside the rest of her companions.

A pained smile fluttered across Aveline’s cracked lips. “Sorry Hawke & Hawke. Mercenaries jumped Donnic’s patrol. I could use some help.”

Fenris sighed. “The holiday season doesn’t stop the madness, apparently.”

Marian jumped beside Maura, her light brown eyes glimmering as she looked towards her older sister. “Where do you need us, Aveline?”

* * *

“Why does every alley in this city smell like piss?”

“How do you know what piss smells like?”

The two sisters exchanged cheeky grins as they followed Aveline and Varric through Lowtown. Anders and Fenris walked behind them, the tension between the two men palpable. The fact that one day they could potentially be _ brother-in-laws  _ was arguably the most unbelievable part of Maura’s entire stay in Kirkwall so far. Fighting a Qunari leader? Normal. Wading through seas of deranged blood mages and corrupt Templars? Just a regular Tuesday. But the image of Fenris and Anders seated across from each other at a future Wintersend feast, having to pass cranberry sauce and exchange presents without killing each other? Now  _ that  _ was simply preposterous. 

But was it truly? For all sakes, she and Anders had a  _ child  _ together. If not for them both being apostates on the run, maybe it wouldn’t be out of the question. Hers and Marian’s recent meeting with King Alistair showed them that Ferelden was slowly getting back to normal, and Maura knew her sister longed to visit their homeland. Maybe they  _ could  _ return once the Mages and Templars settled themselves. They could purchase a nice stretch of land and build two houses on it, just like she and Marian had giggled and dreamed about when they were little girls. Marian could go back to farming. Maura and Anders could settle down and be a family, a  _ real  _ family with Mal. 

Aveline held up a hand, interrupting Maura’s daydreams. Silently, she pointed to a small clearing at the end of the alley they were creeping down. Donnic was on the ground -- thankfully not dead, if the rise and fall of his chest meant anything -- and a large group of mercenaries surrounded the area. Easy targets, but too many for Aveline to handle on her own. The woman may have been a bruiser, but she wasn’t superhuman.

Varric pulled Bianca off his back as they walked in the shadows towards the entrance of their hideout, loading an arrow into her slot. He took a breath, the chill in the air visible as he exhaled. “Friends everywhere. Lovely.”

“This should not take long. Unless they decide to pull any tricks.” Fenris commented quietly, rubbing his hands together to warm them before grabbing his sword.

Maura smelt the magic she thought she had forgotten in the air before she saw it. Rusted Iron and warm copper, strong enough to make her nose wrinkle and senses go wild. Something deep in her body ached at the smell, and she struggled to keep her focus. That was a different life, not hers any more.

The sharp pinch of lyrium’s familiar scent followed, and she snapped her head around to see Marian downing a potion and raising her hand.

“Duck!”

There was only a second to react. Maura and Anders hit the floor as Marian let a burst of dispelling energy wash over the battlefield, missing their heads by mere inches. The three blood mages hunched over Donnic stumbled back, and Maura saw him gasp back to life.

“Damned blood mages,” Aveline spit, and Maura bit back a witty comment as she rose and grabbed her staff off her back.  _ Sarcasm later, fighting  _ ** _now_ ** _ . _

There wasn’t much of a fight. Outside of the blood mages (and Andraste be damned, her sister and Fenris were  _ good  _ at killing blood mages. A bit of a terrifying thought, that was), the mercenaries put up no real struggle. 

“Is it just me,” Maura thought out-loud in Anders’ direction, bonking the end of her staff against a rogue’s head, “or are these mercenaries getting weaker?”

Anders lips were pressed into a thin line, his knuckles white as they squeezed around the knotted wood of his staff. She could see him struggling to keep control as he went toe-to-toe with a blood mage.

“Maybe you’re just getting stronger, Embers!” Varric responded in his place, driving the end of Bianca into a mercenary’s stomach and pulling the trigger.

“Oh, yeah,” Maura could hear the eye roll in Marian’s reply. “Maura and I work out daily. We run laps around Hightown with Aveline’s guardsmen when we’re not chopping wood.”

“Could we save the comedy routine for  _ after _ the fight, please?” Aveline’s voice rang out over the sounds of metal meeting metal, then the mercenary she was fighting crumpled at her feet, missing a head. It wasn’t much longer until the last mercenary fell, burnt to a crisp by Maura’s fireball. 

Plucking a piece of dirt (at least, she  _ hoped  _ it was dirt) off of her robes, Maura smirked. “One more for me. We’re keeping score, aren’t we?”

“Oh, Mar,” A chuckle slipped from Marian’s lips. From behind them, Maura could hear Aveline worrying over Donnic as she dragged him to his feet, with Donnic insisting that he was “ _ just fine, my dear. _ ” 

“Love?”

Maura turned in the direction of Anders’ voice. His brows were furrowed, his hand held out as he stared at his palm. Her blood ran cold: was he hurt? Was Justice doing something that he couldn’t stop? What was wrong?

Anders looked away from his palm, up towards the dark sky. “Did you cast a cold spell?”

“Cold spell?” Maura repeated, standing beside him and looking up towards the sky. A moment later, she felt a cold drop on the tip of her nose.  _ Rain?  _ No, the weather wasn’t right for rain--

“Sweet Maker,” Marian said, standing behind her. “It’s snowing.”

It had been over seven years since Maura last saw snow. The memory was hazy, but if she thought hard enough, she could conjure it in her mind.

_ Bethany’s laughter echoed across the lawn as Carver hurled a snowball into her back. Marian, shovel in hand and cheeks rosy, playfully chastised her little brother for making a mess while she was trying to carve a pathway for Mother to get out of the house. The snow crunched under her boots as she carried a mug of spiced cider over to Garrick, her fire magic melting the snow with each step she took. Inside their house, Mother had just put a roast on the fire. For once, everyone was smiling and happy. They were at peace. _

Kirkwall snow wasn’t like Ferelden snow: instead of powder, it was ice. Cold, cold ice. Maura could feel a twinge of pain in her bones from the snow as it fell around their small group, but she couldn’t help her growing smile, nor pull her gaze from the clouds. 

“Bah, this shit is too cold for me.” Varric complained, throwing his arms up. “I hate this.”

“You hate everything, don’t you?” Fenris responded, his smirk dripping from every word.

“I like drinks, which are on  _ you,  _ Elf. You owe me after our last card night.” A pause. “Embers, Blondie, you two joining us?”

“Leave them be, Varric,” Marian’s voice was soft and sweet, and Maura could hear the smile forming on her lips in her words. “We’ll meet them back at the Hanged Man.”

Their footsteps echoed as they walked out of the alley, leaving Anders and Maura alone, still staring at the sky. She wasn’t sure what was so mesmerizing about the snow falling around them: could it be a sign of a new beginning, a new life?

After a pause, Maura reached out and took Anders’ hand. She gave it a soft squeeze. A moment later Anders squeezed it right back. The two looked towards each other, Anders’ cheeks and nose rosy from the chill that was surrounding them.

“A Wintersend miracle,” The edge to Anders’ voice was replaced with a softness she hadn’t heard in years. “Lovely, isn’t it?”

“It reminds me of Ferelden,” Maura hummed as Anders cupped her cheek, residual magic from the fight keeping his palm warm. “Father always described snow as a rebirth. It froze everything and killed most of the plants, but when the flowers bloomed again in spring, they were even bigger and brighter than the year before. Father said it was because of the snow.”

Anders was silent, moving only to rest his forehead against Maura’s. She drew in a breath, tasting the cool air as it danced over her tongue. Looking up at him under her lashes, she could see a smile pulling at his lips, sweetness behind his eyes. Sweetness behind his lips when his lips met hers. Not too long, not too short. Just right, just what she needed. What  _ they  _ needed.

The kiss broke and Maura sighed, contentedness in her exhaled breath.

“Let's get back to the Hanged Man before they start placing bets.”

Anders’ hand fit into hers perfectly, like a glove she thought she’d lost months ago. He smiled at her, and for the first time in a long time, his eyes were clear. There was no hint of Justice lingering behind honey-brown eyes she had fallen in love with years ago.

“I think that would be nice.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Go give nuclearmuffins some love!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the mother we share will never keep our cold hearts from calling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23782408) by [nuclearmuffins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuclearmuffins/pseuds/nuclearmuffins)


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